The Tale Of The Potter Children
by Elizabeth Lily
Summary: "You falling in love with a Muggle," James Sirius Potter- or rather Mycroft, as he is called in this world- says. "Grandpa Arthur would be proud."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own none of the following characters. If I did, I would be at the bank, counting my royalties.**

James Sirius Potter opens the door of 221B Baker Street. He pauses, not because he is hesitant, but because the doorknob tells him that Dr Watson is out- probably for grocery shopping. An idea occurs to him and he quickly types in his Blackberry a text to his PA.

He opens the door, noting the mat that is slightly askew. Even better. Mrs Hudson is not here, gone out to replenish her herbal soothers which are actually not herbal soothers. He takes out his wand (acacia with unicorn tail, twelve and a quarter inches, reasonably bendy) and casts a spell. "Muffliato," he says. By now, he is certain Albus would have heard him, but the silence tells him that he (as usual) is choosing to ignore him.

James treads up the stairs and looks at his younger brother. Albus is curled up on the sofa, violin a metre away, staring up at the ceiling with a bored expression. Already suffering from John-withdrawal when he has gone out a mere three minutes ago.

"You falling in love with a Muggle," James- or rather Mycroft, as he is called in this world- says. "Grandpa Arthur would be proud."

Albus Severus Potter- though we must call him Sherlock for now- says nothing- which Mycroft knows it is because he doesn't trust himself to speak. He notes the spark in Sherlock's eyes, ones that last for a fraction of a second but screams, "Yes, it's true, I'm in love with John." In other words, Sherlock loves John but won't admit it. At least never to Mycroft.

Instead, what Sherlock does in response to Mycroft's statement is to point his wand (pine with dragon heartstring, 10 and a half inches, unyielding) at the violin, which immediately starts to shriek, the bow twanging away in defiance. John and Mrs Hudson are both out, and Mycroft has cast the _Muffliato_ charm, so nobody can hear them. But its intended audience is only Mycroft, so the violin serves its purpose well.

Mycroft says, "Diffindo", flicking his wand at the violin. It immediately breaks apart with a soft sigh, the banshee shriek fading into silence.

Sherlock glowers, "That was my favourite violin." Of course, they know he could easily repair it, so Mycroft ignores the comment.

"Stop cursing me, _Albus_." The word 'Albus' is said with particular vengence, and it works: Mycroft sees Sherlock wince.

"Yes, James, you were _never_ good at the non-verbal spells, were you?" The word 'never' is said with some venom, and Mycroft has to work to keep his face straight. It doesn't quite do- he knows Sherlock notices his eyebrow turning down just the slightest.

But Mycroft knows he has the upper hand. He smirks and says, "I'm heading back to Grimmauld Place. I'm sure Mummy would be happy to know of your latest- interest. Dad, too."

Sherlock glares. "What is it you want?" he asks, stowing the wand away. Mycroft notices it is the front pocket- he means to use it again. Surprise jinx? Mycroft does the same, taking extra care to put it in his front pocket too- _I __know __what __you __are __planning._

Sherlock notices and scowls, but Mycroft carries on, unheeding. "Nothing, dear Albus. I simply want to invite you to the Christmas dinner."

"I won't go." Sherlock says petulantly, pouting. Which is pointless- Sherlock always goes, if only because of that one time he didn't go and Mummy spent Christmas dinner in tears, something the Potter family sees very, very, very rarely.

"Really? Do you remember what happened the last time?" Mycroft asks, and Sherlock's mouth quirks, that reaction a giveaway to how badly Mummy's crying had affected him.

"Go away. Don't you have important Minister of Magic things to do?" Sherlock asks, and Mycroft knows he has won.

"I'll expect you at 3pm at Grimmauld Place, 25th December." Mycroft calls as he turns to leave, the umbrella swinging from his hand. "Now I really must hurry, I underestimated the time it took for you to_behave_.", referring to the little confrontation with the violin.

In a flash Sherlock has grabbed his wand and pointed it at Mycroft, but Mycroft lazily flicks his umbrella and the Shield Charm nicely deflects the Bat-Bogey Hex. In a swift motion, Mycroft has grabbed his own wand and shouted, "Expelliarmus!" The wand nearly goes flying from Sherlock's hand, but he manages to hang on tight and glare at Mycroft at the same time.

"The umbrella had the fir wand I broke in 3rd year." he says. "I should have known you'll keep it with you, just like Hagrid."

"So long, Albus. I'll be seeing you." Mycroft says, not bothering to dignify that with a comment, turning down the stairs- to see John, who is looking up with a stunned expression, holding two grocery bags. Just back from Tesco.

Mycroft smiles. His plan has gone perfectly well. Anthea has really proven her worth.

He raises his wand, knowing perfectly well that Sherlock would stop him. "Obliv-" he shouts, while Sherlock, anticipating this, shouts "Expelliarmus!" and both wand and umbrella goes flying out of Mycroft's hands, into Sherlock's hand.

"You are not changing his memory-" Sherlock accuses, then stops. Something gave Mycroft away. His pocket seams, perhaps? "You planned this. You planned for John to see this, didn't you?"

Mycroft smiles. "I expect to see John at Christmas dinner as well. Or else Mummy would be hearing all kinds of stories from me about you two."

"I'll put Veritaserum into your pumpkin juice." Sherlock threatens.

"It would be true stories." Mycroft says, and Sherlock blanches.

"Which bug did I miss in this flat- oh, very smart, you used Rita Skeeter!"

"Correct." Mycroft nods, and walks down the stairs. "I'll be seeing you at Christmas, Dr Watson." He smiles at John, who looks even more confused.

Then, with a final thud, the door of 221B Baker Street closes, leaving a very puzzled Muggle and the son of Harry Potter.

**A/N: Not sure if I should continue this. Please review and tell me whether I should invest more time in this. :)**

Acacia (Mycroft's wand): A very unusual wand wood, which I _(Ollivander)_ have found creates tricky wands that often refuse to produce magic for any but their owner, and also withhold their best effects from all but those most gifted. This sensitivity renders them difficult to place, and I keep only a small stock for those witches or wizards of sufficient subtlety, for acacia is not suited to what is commonly known as 'bangs-and-smells' magic. When well-matched, an acacia wand matches any for power, though it is often underrated due to the peculiarity of its temperament.

Fir (Mycroft's old wand): My august grandfather, Gerbold Octavius Ollivander, always called wands of this wood 'the survivor's wand,' because he had sold it to three wizards who subsequently passed through mortal peril unscathed. There is no doubt that this wood, coming as it does from the most resilient of trees, produces wands that demand staying power and strength of purpose in their true owners, and that they are poor tools in the hands of the changeable and indecisive. Fir wands are particularly suited to Transfiguration, and favour owners of focused, strong-minded and, occasionally, intimidating demeanour.

Pine (Sherlock's wand): The straight-grained pine wand always chooses an independent, individual master who may be perceived as a loner, intriguing and perhaps mysterious. Pine wands enjoy being used creatively, and unlike some others, will adapt unprotestingly to new methods and spells. Many wandmakers insist that pine wands are able to detect, and perform best for, owners who are destined for long lives, and I can confirm this in as much as I have never personally known the master of a pine wand to die young. The pine wand is one of those that is most sensitive to non-verbal magic.

-From Pottermore.


	2. Chapter 2

"Come again?" John asks.

"Magic! Mycroft and I are magic-users. We're wizards who decided to go into the Muggle world." Sherlock pouts. He didn't want to explain this to John, but he knows he has to. Stupid Mycroft and his devious plans.

"And you didn't tell me because?"

"International Statute of Secrecy. Basically, we're not supposed to tell Muggles about who we are, blah blah blah."

"Muggles?"

"Normal people who don't know anything about magic. Not that you are in any way normal." Sherlock says, the highest compliment he could ever give. But John doesn't notice, which is frustrating.

"Right." John says rather uncertainly. But John has to believe it- he saw it with his own eyes. "And you are telling me now because-?"

"Because I won't get prosecuted for this. Most probably." Sherlock says. "Mycroft is the Minister of Magic and Dad is the Boy Who Lived. Blah blah blah."

"Sorry? The Minister of Magic? The Boy Who Lived?"

"The Minister of Magic is the Prime Minister of our world. Mycroft's minor position in the British government is actually annoying the crap out of the British PM. And Dad is legendary in our world." Sherlock says. He wished John didn't have to find out this way, but Mycroft is always interfering.

"Okay." John says, and attempts to take it in. It explains a lot to him: why Mycroft is the most dangerous man in the world, why Sherlock doesn't know who the British PM is.

In the meantime, Sherlock is marvelling at John's unruffled demeanour. Most Muggles by now would have run away screaming, or be attempting to cart him to the mental hospital, not that he really had much first-hand experience. They're idiots. John, however, is not.

"Right, so you're coming with me for Christmas dinner. To meet my family." Sherlock scowls. The Potter family, combined with the Weasley family, not to mention Teddy. Torture. Not to mention the hexes that would be cast after the third glass of sherry. He predicts a 70% probability that someone's face will be covered with bat's wings before two hours are up. The Bat-Bogey Hex, after all, is a speciality of the Potter family.

John laughs. "As in, the infamous Mummy, and your legendary Dad? With the Minister of Magic?" But he agrees anyway, thinking that it is better than watching Harry get drunk every Christmas.

Over the next few weeks, John has so many questions for Sherlock.

"Can you really read people's minds? Is magic why you are so good at deducing? Why did you come out into the Muggle world? What is yours and Mycroft's real name?"

Sherlock patiently answers all the questions, which is new for him. He has never been good with curiousity. But John- John is all the exceptions for him.

"No, John, of course I can't read people's minds. I see, and observe. It's what anyone could do. Because the magical world is boring. My real name is Albus Severus Potter, and Mycroft's name is James Sirius Potter."

Sherlock doesn't know why he is answering all the questions. But it's a relief to say it all out. Too long has he kept this a secret from all the Muggles.

"Were you using magic on the night of the Pool incident?" John finally asks.

Sherlock nods. "I used a Shield charm after I shot the bomb. That's why we didn't die." And Moriarty did, because after all, he was just a Muggle.

What surprises Sherlock is how well John takes all of this. Just a nod, and that's that. He says that he always knew Sherlock was special.

But Sherlock is scared. Always scared that one day, it will be too much, and John will leave, calling him a freak. Professor Mcgonagall once gave him ten detentions when he deduced she had a lost love, whom she couldn't marry, probably because he was a farmer, but more likely because he was a Muggle. Scorpius Malfoy spent all seven years of Hogwarts bullying him, all because he had told him on the Hogwarts train that he secretly liked Rose Weasley, his cousin. Or that might have also been due to the fact that Dad was always at loggerheads with Malfoy's father.

But he should have known John would be different. John would stay, even after all the explosions and the running and the near-death experiences.

And he would stay even when a certain enchanted Sneakoscope started spinning wildly, heralding the arrival of a certain Rita Skeeter.

__**A/N: The next one would be up soon! Minerva Mcgonagall's story is from Pottermore.**


	3. Chapter 3

"What the hell is going on?" John asks, when the Sneakoscope lights up and starts whistling a very high pitched tune. Sherlock carelessly points his wand at it to silence it, completely disregarding the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Well, he has practically broken all of its clauses by now. Mycroft has been unusually accommodating.

"Homenum Revelio," Sherlock enunciates carefully. He could do it non-verbally, of course, but he's concentrating on getting the location as well. Somewhere to his east- couldn't be the kitchen, Skeeter wouldn't want to go near his potions, then it would have to be the sofa. She would not be under it, since she hated getting dust on her, so she would be on the seat itself. On top, yet out of his or John's line of sight, that would mean she would be precisely five inches away from the edge.

All of this goes through Sherlock's mind for a nanosecond before he pounces, jar in hand. The jar has been magically enchanted, so that she cannot escape, lid or not. The beetle pounds against the invisible barrier of the jar, frustrated, unable to change back. Sherlock examines her carefully. Curled antennas, curious markings around her eyes that differentiate her from the average _Coleoptera_.

Oh, Rita has been very clever. Knowing that he would notice her even in beetle form, she has been very, very careful in keeping out of his sight. He scowls at her.

"Right," John says from behind him. "You caught a beetle."

"Not just any beetle, John. Rita Skeeter," Sherlock says with some relish. Not quite the thrill of a case solved, but close enough.

John has a questioning look on his face, and then he flops down onto his seat. Tiredness- extra-long shift, which meant that Dr Stone was on sick leave. Well technically she wasn't, but John doesn't want to know things about his colleagues, so Sherlock refrains from commenting. "Alright," John says. "Take me through this", waiting for Sherlock to tell him exactly why this beetle is special.

And Sherlock likes it. More than just having an audience, but having John there. Even if it's very distracting. He turns his wand at Rita and mutters, "Reductus inde in hominis conversione te fatuus".

And Rita Skeeter is growing, like a ridiculously sped-up version of a plant blooming, until she sits there on the couch, a hand still comically stuck inside the jar. Sherlock smiles what other people think as the 'psychopath smile'. It's vastly different from the 'I'm trying to act human' smile, so he is not surprised when Rita flinches for a moment. But it lasts no longer than a second before she smiles blandly and takes out a piece of parchment and her Quick-Quotes Quill with her free hand. It immediately starts scratching across the parchment.

Sherlock says, "Rita Skeeter. Spying on me through changing into a beetle. Tell me, are you a registered Animagus? No, you aren't, my brother decided that you would be better for spying. And- oh, he asked you to spy on me one last time, I see from your quill."

Rita smiles. "I've heard so much about you, Mr Potter. You think you're clever, but actually you are just as human as the rest of us, aren't you. I have been looking- you and your flatmate-"

"Ms Skeeter," Sherlock doesn't bother smiling. "You are getting on in years. Probably getting senile, if you want to cross another Potter."

Rita opens her mouth to reply, but is cut short by John. "Sorry, what are you both talking about?"

Rita laughs, a trilling laugh which reminds Sherlock uncomfortably of fingernails scratching across a blackboard. "Oh, Albus, you haven't told your Muggle friend everything?" She leans forward, words tumbling out in a rush. "John Watson, am I right? Your friend is famous, and not just because of his dad. When he was in sixth year, he wrote a thesis about how magic and science was related, which capsulated him into fame. You know how many spells he has invented, how many potions he has come up with? You don't even know that he is in-"

"Ms Skeeter, please be reminded that your hand is in the jar that I enchanted. I could trap you if I wanted to." Sherlock cuts through Rita's words like ice- no, more like an eighty-pound ice block landing on Rita's words to smash them flat. "Since you have nothing better to do, I suggest that you clear off and write your report to the Minister of Magic. And don't bother with the Quick Quotes Quill, I cursed it while you were underlining my achievements to Dr Watson."

Rita Skeeter looks in horror at the piece of parchment. Sherlock smiles, as it reads, "_Rita __Skeeter's __worse __memory __was __of __the __year __she __spent __in __a __jar __thanks __to __a __certain __Hermione __Granger. __To __this __day, __she __still __cries __whenever __she __thinks __about __it. __Truly __heart-breaking-"_

"I do NOT cry about it!" Rita denies, a little too fervently, as Sherlock lifts the enchantment and she breaks free from the jar. Not that she notices. She is too busy running down the stairs, passing a bewildered Mrs Hudson, "I didn't see you come in!", and pelting out into the street.

Sherlock turns to John. "That was Rita Skeeter. She enjoys spying on me, courtesy of Mycroft. But she won't anymore. Questions?"

John just looks at him, sympathetic. "So you are famous in your world? Why didn't you enjoy it?"

Sherlock controls his reaction. Emotions are bad, very bad. To love is to be weak. (He ought to be the weakest person on the planet, then). He ignores John's question and says instead, "I threw away the jam inside the jar." Obvious really, but John doesn't observe.

John bends to look at the jar label and frowns.

"Sherlock, that was my favourite brand of jam!"

**A/N: I'm very sorry about inventing that ridiculously long spell that Sherlock cast at Rita to make her change back into a human. It literally means, "Change back into a human you idiot." I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. Especially since the real spell to turn an Animagus back into a human was never stated in POA. And oh, the jam. I couldn't resist a jam reference either.**

**Right, I've done enough dawdling, so it's going to be Christmas next! It will be up soon, since I've written half of it already.**

**Reviews are very welcome. Thank you for your support!**


	4. Chapter 4

Christmas morning brings snow and a ringing Sneakoscope. Sherlock scowls, because he has instantly deduced who has come.

"Mycroft!" he yells from his bedroom. "Get out, I'll be seeing you and your pudgy cheeks in seven hours anyway!"

"Albus," Mycroft sighs from the doorway. "How many times have you broken the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy in the past few days?"

Sherlock glares right back. What is Mycroft doing in his bedroom? "I have a feeling you know that better than me."

"You have broken it 143 times." Mycroft says.

"It's 142," Sherlock retorted. "The Sneakoscope does not count. Anyway, why are you bothered by this?"

Mycroft smiles. "I think you should do the one thing that would nullify all the infractions." With that, he disappears from the doorway. Sherlock can hear him decline John's bleary-eyed offer of tea and walk down the stairs, swinging that irritating enchanted umbrella from his elbow.

Sherlock knows what he means- propose to John. A fiancée of a wizard or witch would automatically gain access to the magical world. But if that is what Mycroft wants, why would he tell it to Sherlock so blatantly? Mycroft, after all, is a devotee to the art of reverse psychology. Sherlock thinks for three more seconds (embarrassing, really) before the truth hits him.

_Mycroft knows I want it badly. Even more so than him. So he plants this idea in my head._

Sherlock curses at his manipulative creep of a brother. Even though he knows he is being manipulated, it is what he wants as well. Is that really manipulation? Things get so- ah, John's favourite quote from Doctor Who- timey-wimey when John is involved.

Sherlock slumps back into bed. No cases or bodies, Lestrade and Molly are off on vacation and Dimmock won't speak to him. His Draught of Living Death needs five more days of fermentation and the experiment on eyeballs need three more days to dry. Sherlock would want Felix Felicis, but he used it up all in one go once and got high. (It wasn't really cocaine that he nearly died of a overdose from three years ago, but Lestrade need never know that.)

So he scowls and settles back into bed.

John gets him up at 11am, asking him what he should bring along to the Christmas dinner. Mundane. Boring. He looks at John and wonders, 'Can he love me back?' Then he brushes the thought aside. He is supposed to be getting over this ridiculous crush (_love_) on John. Not that confessing to him that he was a wizard helped in any way. It just strengthened the crush. John is so accepting that he would probably accept a worm for a friend or something ridiculous like that.

Sherlock is over thinking this, but he can't help it. It's true that Mycroft got him thinking like this, but it's more like a wake-up call than anything else.

Merlin's pants, he is falling in love with John. Not that Sherlock didn't know it, he was simply practising self-denial. He was getting pretty good at it until Mycroft interfered. Again.

"Look, Sherlock, Mycroft left a bottle of something. Can you tell me if it is going to blow up in my face, or is it safe for consumption?

Sherlock? Sherlock!" John's worried voice breaks through Sherlock's thoughts. He looks over at the bottle, and pouts even more. Mycroft meddles again.

"It is a bottle of Firewhisky. An alcoholic beverage." Sherlock states, leaving John to do his own deducing.

"Right," John says uncertainly. "A Christmas present from Mycroft?"

"Don't be naive, John." Sherlock snaps. "Mycroft left it because he knew your social conscience wouldn't let you appear at our home without an appropriate gift, and I wouldn't be procuring a Firewhisky on your behalf."

John thinks this through for a while. "It's got to be something more than that. If it was just that, you wouldn't be glaring at the bottle as if it owes you ten thousand dollars. And Mycroft wouldn't come here just to ease my social conscience. He must have wanted to tell or give you something too. Maybe even this gift is his way of sending a message to you too."

Sherlock is impressed. He forgets that John's insight and strength of perception sometimes. A mistake. "Very good, John." But he doesn't answer John's unsaid question, and instead flops down on the sofa to examine the ceiling wall.

He doesn't know it (for once), but John is staring at him with the sort of look that Clara used to look at Harry with, in the early days of their courtship. The sort of look Sherlock gives John when John isn't looking.


	5. Chapter 5

"Just alight here." Sherlock instructs the cabbie.

"Right," the cabbie says. He blinks uncertainly. "I think I've got a passenger waiting for me at King's College." Once John and Sherlock alight, the cabbie immediately speeds off.

John looks at Sherlock in confusion. "Didn't that cabbie just spend the entire duration of our journey complaining about the lack of passengers?"

"Muggle-repelling charms. Slight one, of course. For anyone who comes within a three foot vicinity of 12 Grimmauld Place." Sherlock says.

John frowns. "Did we leave the kettle on at Baker Street? I think we should go back and check..."

Sherlock grabs onto his arm. "No, John. Muggle-Repelling charms, they should be quite easy to ignore if you know they exist."

John sighs. "I feel so welcome now." Sherlock notes to himself to lift the charm on Grimmauld Place. If John came back, he wouldn't want to feel that again- wait, what was he talking about? He was just taking John to Christmas dinner with his family. Once and only once.

"So are we going to come in, or are we going to stand outside in the cold?" John asks. "Besides, your brother said 12 Grimmauld Place, and I don't see a 12."

Sherlock can see number 12. It is right in front of him. Discreetly, he aims a spell at John, and John stares, probably because he sees an entire house growing in front of him.

"Oh," is all John says. He has a bemused look on his face, as if it suddenly occurred to him just how mad this evening is going to be. Sherlock grabs his arm (strange, he hates touching people), and opens the door of 12 Grimmauld Place.

It is going to be a _long_ evening.

Right at the doorway, they are met with a thirty-something year old saying, "Albus, you came! And I'm so glad you brought someone along!" She has red hair- flaming red hair, and brown eyes.

Sherlock smiles a genuine one. "John, this is Lily, my younger sister. Lily, this is John, my-"

Lily interrupts. "Oh, I've heard about you, John. Mycroft said so much." She turns her gaze to John. "I'm so glad Albus found someone, he's been alone for so long-"

"Wait," John says, feeling as if he is not keeping up with this conversation. "I'm not-"

Sherlock looks at him, the intent clear, asking him not to say anything. John would have ignored it, if he didn't see the desperation in Sherlock's eyes.

"Anyway," Lily is saying brightly. "Mom and Dad would be glad to see you, I'll go get them or something-" She disappears, giving John and Sherlock some alone time.

"What exactly is going on?" John asks, giving his best I'm-Captain-Watson-now-so-don't-fool-with-me tone.

Sherlock shrugs. "The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy states that only Muggles who are engaged to wizards or witches can know about the wizarding world. It used to be married, but they softened on the rules."

"And you didn't bother mentioning that I'll have to pretend to be your _fiancée_?" John asks incredulously.

"I didn't see it coming." Sherlock lies, a lie that John doesn't bother to pry apart. In truth, Sherlock knew, but he didn't want to say it out because it was what he wanted. He would like very much to be engaged to John. If he pretended, even for one evening, would that be enough?

"Just pretend." Sherlock says. "Please."

John's eyebrows shoot up into his forehead, at the sound of his flatmate uttering a "please". "Very well, Sherlock. Just this once."

_John __will __leave, __John __will __leave, __he __can't __take __this __nonsense __any more. __John __will __leave, __John __will __leave, __John __will __leave._ Sherlock chants nervously to himself, as if saying it will prevent it from happening. Shouldn't the Murphy's Law take care of that?

They move into a hallway, and John looks around. But Mom and Dad are coming towards them already, beaming.

"Albus!" Mom cries, and pulls him into a hug. His Dad also pulls him into one, and he hears the words whispered into his ear, so that John can't hear, "_I'm __going __to __have __a __long __talk __with __you __later, __Al."_

Sherlock sighs and rolls his eyes. He nods, imperceptibly, before turning around.

"Call me Ginny," Mom says. "And this is Harry." She waves at Dad.

"Nice to meet you," John says. He places the bottle of Firewhisky in her hands. "Thanks for inviting me."

"No problem, at all, absolutely none! I mean, Albus has never invited friends over before, much less his other half. We're all excited to meet you." Mom is saying.

John is smiling and blushing at the same time. An excellent performance. John is a natural, really. His Dad is looking between Sherlock and John, and the look he gives Sherlock is not unlike Mycroft's, only kinder.

But they have no time to think about it, because the door has opened and someone trips over a troll-leg umbrella stand and curses. "Merlin's beard!"

"Teddy!" Mom says. Teddy Lupin is standing there, with Victoire Weasley and Appolline Weasley, their daughter. For a moment all eyes (except for John's) flicker to the wall beyond the hallway, where a portrait of Mrs Black used to reside before Sherlock cursed it off (quite by accident, and he blew up the rest of the room along with it).

"Tonks used to do that every single time." His Dad says, eyes sad. Sherlock leans over and whispers to John, "Tonks is Teddy's mother, who died just after he was born."

After introductions are made, and Apolline Weasley has sufficiently captured the hearts of everyone in the room, they decide to move to the dining room and wait for the rest. It isn't long before Ron and Hermione appear. Both are in their late fifties, but they show no sign of changing from their adolescent years, as far as Sherlock can tell.

"I told you we'd be late if you tried going by the car!" Hermione snaps.

Ron retorts back, "And what, we take the cab?"

"Ron! Hermione!" Dad shouts. Hermione and Ron look up and grin. "Harry!" With them comes Rose, Scorpius and Hugo. Rose and Scorpius's son, called Fabian, toddles in. Hugo, ever the doting uncle, ensures that Fabian doesn't fall over.

It's all quite a blur of red after that. More Weasleys come in. Percy's family use the Floo Network; they emerge, soot-covered and indignant, mostly because George's twin grandchildren Septimus and Gideon has set an exploding sweet in the fireplace.

Luna and Rolf appear too, twin boys Lorcan and Lysander in tow. They stand out from the rest, mostly because they are wearing rainbow robes and Butterbeer corks around their necks. Mycroft arrives not too long later, and smiles at Sherlock, who glares right back.

Charlie Apparates to the doorstep, tripping through the door and falling flat on his face. He is the one all the children run to, demanding to be regaled tales of 'scary fire-breathing dragons'. John raises his eyebrows at that. Sherlock tells him, "Yes, there are dragons. And giants and merpeople and all of that."

Everybody is interested in John, to see who is the one who has captured the heart of Albus, ever the loner. There are lots of "Congratulations!" and "Blimey, who knew Albus would get _engaged_?" and John frankly looks rather uncomfortable. But it's Luna that delivers the piece de resistance.

"Hello, John. I've heard. But you two are not really engaged yet, are you? Don't worry, I won't tell, I know what people might think about the rubbish International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Anyway, you'll soon be engaged, so how does it matter?"

John spluttered for quite a while over that, while Sherlock glares at Aunt Luna (technically, she's not his aunt). Luna laughs, "Don't worry Albus, you'll get your wish soon."

Luna was always the perceptive one, the one who can see through to your soul, Sherlock remembers belatedly. It takes a fair thumping to get the pumpkin juice out of John's system.

At last, dinner starts. John is squashed rather uncomfortably diagonally opposite Sherlock, in between Audrey Weasley and a rather sticky boy named Gideon. Or was it his twin brother Septimus? John cannot tell. He looks at Sherlock, who mouths, "Septimus."

Dad stands up and announces a toast. "To all who have gone before us!" He says gravely, and everyone is silent for a moment.

Then dinner starts, and chaos happened. Well, what did you expect when you stuck the Weasley clan, the Potter family, and a Muggle in the same room?

**A/N: Having never been to London, I don't quite know what London cabbies do. In my country, many cabbies spend the entire duration telling me about the lack of passengers, the taxes, the GST hikes, etc. And I nod along and agree. But anyway I do hope I'm accurate.**

**The Fidelius Charm on Grimmauld Place has been lifted as of that time (it should be the year 2038). In place are other forms of security against Muggles- like Muggle-repelling charms.**

**Apolline is the name of Fleur's mother, who would be the current Apolline's great-grandmother. She would be 1/16th Veela, not enough to enchant people, but enough to be an extremely cute child (and 1/8th werewolf). Septimus and Gideon and Fabian were all part of the Prewett family, which Molly Weasley came from. I made Rose marry Scorpius (Draco's kid) just so I could imagine Ron's reaction. And the awkwardness of the wedding.**


	6. Chapter 6

**This is in John's POV. I couldn't find any other way to write it.**

John ladles all the stuff on his plate. He has never seen lots of the food before, but it all looks good. Next to him, Septimus is fiddling with some piece of sweet. Suddenly, it blows up and splatters onto John, Audrey, and everyone within a metre of him. There is a lot of cursing and a half-hearted scolding by Fred, his dad.

Audrey taps John on his clothes and siphons off all the sticky liquid, including the ones on his plate (disgusting). But Audrey assures him that all sweets have been removed, so he continues eating, while Audrey complains, "Terrible, Septimus. Well, at least we know who is going to run the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes."

John finds that he doesn't mind so much. Sherlock is next to his Dad, engaged to deep conversation, and basically throwing him to the sharks. So he talks to Septimus, figuring he will be better off than with Audrey, who is droning on about the re-enforcement of charms on pewter cauldrons.

"What are you doing?" John asks.

"Oh, you're Uncle Albus's fiancée." Septimus says. "I was trying to see if the sweets would be good to use at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?"

"My school. Everyone magical goes there. Dad, Granduncle Harry, Uncle Albus, everybody in this room."

"Right," John says, feeling somewhat out of place. "And who are you planning to use the sweets on?"

"The Slytherins, of course! Bunch of idiots, the load of them. Except for maybe Uncle Albus."

"Slytherin?" John asks. Septimus goes on about this house that is supposedly full of evil, dark wizards, and how most, if not all, of his family went to Gryffindor, except for Uncle Albus. Gryffindors are brave, Hufflepuffs are somewhat like losers, Ravenclaws are very smart, and Slytherins are dark wizards. Through the boy's chatter, John sees- really sees- the clan and how Sherlock must have felt. Always a loner, even in his own family.

He belatedly realises that Septimus has moved onto another topic, and snaps out of his analysis. "Look, I know Chocolate Frog card collecting is really lame, but I've collected so many! Like, see, Granduncle Harry's, Grandaunt Hermione's, Granduncle Ron's...

John takes the Chocolate Frog card and raises his eyebrows. Sherlock said that his dad was legendary, but John is pretty sure that _saving __Britain __from __the __darkest __wizard__of __all __time_ is not just legend, it's a phenomenon. He looks with newfound respect at Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Oh, right, and do you want to see Albus's Chocolate Frog Card as well?"

John stares. Surely he hasn't heard right. "Aren't the people who are on Chocolate Frog Cards really famous people?"

Septimus nods. "Uncle Albus is famous too!" He hands John a card with a scowling Sherlock on it. It looks up at him and grins, waving. "That's funny," Septimus says, "He has never smiled before. Well, you being you, I guess it's understandable. He really loves you, doesn't he?"

John opens his mouth to deliver the "We're just friends" line, before realising that he is supposed to be engaged to Sherlock. Not that he wouldn't want to be engaged to Sherlock- this is a mess, he realised belatedly. So he just takes the proffered card and reads it.

_Albus Severus Potter, son of the Boy Who Lived, would have been famous by virtue of his birth. Named after two Hogwarts Headmasters, Albus definitively proved the link between magic and science in his sixth year of Hogwarts. He went on to create new counter-spells thought to be impossible, and invented new potions. His most notable addition is a counter-spell against one of the Unforgivable Curses, the Imperius curse and extending the time limit of the Polyjuice Potion._

It runs through like nonsense in John's head, but he gets the main point. He wonders exactly why Sherlock didn't want the fame. Certainly, he likes an audience, he said so himself, but why doesn't he enjoy fame? "Can I keep this?" He asks Septimus. Septimus shrugs. "Sure, I got about five of these."

John pockets it, and hears a commotion. He realises that Sherlock and Mycroft are arguing. Loudly.

"My spells are much better than yours!" Sherlock snaps.

"I bet you can't do a Patronus Charm as well as me!" Mycroft teases back. Ginny opens her mouth to say something, but Harry puts a hand on her arm.

"Want to bet?" Sherlock bites out.

"Very well, dear brother. We'll see."

They stand, side by side, next to the dinner table. John hears someone sigh, "These boys."

Lily seems to have become their referee. "On the count of one, two, three-"

Sherlock and Mycroft say at the same time, "Expecto Patronum!"

Two animals erupt from their wand at the same time. A stag erupts from Mycroft's wand, and a badger appears from Sherlock's wand. The badger quite pointedly walks away from the stag and walks (drifts?) around the table to settle next to John's head, while the stag looks on- amusedly, if you could call a stag amused.

Sherlock stares at the badger, horrified. "When?" He breathes, before his face hardens and he flicks his wand at Mycroft and runs up the stairs, slamming the door.

The stag abruptly disappears and the badger glares at Mycroft, whose face is inexplicably covered with bat's wings, all flapping. John is halfway out of his chair- being a doctor and all, before he realises that Mycroft has waved his wand and his face goes back to normal.

Then John realises everyone is staring at him. The badger flaps his tail and fades back into mist. Ginny and half the adult female population have tears in their eyes. Even Harry seem quite overcome.

"What?" John demands, resisting the urge to go and find Sherlock.

Harry Potter seems to make a snap decision then. "Right. John, can I talk to you? In private?"

And so John finds himself in a room, seated with Harry and Ginny. He isn't exactly an alcoholic (not ever, after seeing Harry, his sister), but he finds himself wishing for a drink. Liquid courage.

But he has drunk quite enough. He fancies he can see a ear underneath the door.

"Patronuses are very important. The animal your Patronus takes represents you, or some important facet of your life." Harry says. "They don't normally change."

John nods. "And Sher-Albus's one changed?"

Ginny nods. "They change when your life changes. When you reach a crisis, or when your personality changes, or when you fall in love."

John thinks he is starting to get the picture.

Ginny continues on. "Albus's used to be a snake, for Slytherin. An asp, to be accurate. But now it's a badger, symbolic of Hufflepuff."

"So he's secretly a Hufflepuff?" John asks, confused.

"No," Harry interrupts. "He is in love with someone who is like a Hufflepuff. Someone who is loyal and brave."

John takes three seconds to connect the dots. All of them.

"Right," His voice sounds strained. "You're telling me you think Sherlock is in love with me? Because actually, we're just friends."

"John, I understand it may be a shock." Harry says. His tone, though kind, brooks no interruption. And John understands what sort of person can raise Mycroft and Sherlock without going mad. "I was talking to Albus during dinner. He told me that you two weren't actually engaged. But he wishes you were. I'm not putting any pressure on you or anything, but when your Patronus changes for someone you love- to wizards, it symbolises something more than a marriage certificate."

John stares. It still hasn't quite sunk in yet. All the while he thought he was in love with Sherlock- Sherlock was in love with him too. Because honestly, who couldn't fall in love with the genius? Someone who has so many shields to hide his lonely interior. Well, he could think of many people who are decidedly not in love with Sherlock, but they're idiots.

Ginny is continuing. "Albus has always been a loner. He hated people looking up to him, he hated all the fame. He just wanted a friend. Unfortunately, he hated the fame so much, he decided to move to the Muggle world and become a consulting detective. Then he finally found a friend. You."

"But- but-" John says. "If it doesn't work out, we won't even be friends. I can't lose Sherlock's friendship." It is what he always told himself whenever he thought about it.

Harry raises an eyebrow at him. Gryffindor, where dwells the brave at heart. He really shouldn't have said that to a Gryffindor.

"Well," John says, after a minute of thinking and planning. "I think I should take Sherlock home. I hope to see you soon. Thank you for inviting me."

"No problem at all." Ginny smiles, while Harry turns and see the ear.

"Gideon!" he roars.

John has a funny feeling he knows what the ear does, and he grins and walks upstairs to find his flatmate.

Sherlock is huddled in a heap on a bed.

"Sherlock, it's time to go home." he says. Sherlock mumbles something and refuses to move.

"Sherlock," John says. "I have something to tell you, but I am not saying it here because Gideon has this hideous ear contraption that I have a really bad feeling about. So can you come home to Baker Street with me please?"

Sherlock looks at him, with an expression of hope on his face. It nearly breaks John's heart to see Sherlock, that great mind, so vulnerable. Because of him.

But John doesn't say anything, just follows him as he walks out and they ride a cab back home to 221B Baker Street in silence.

**A/N: Yes, Gideon was using an Extendable Ear to listen, and then report back to his parents, who will pretend they don't know that he is using an Extendable Ear. It's a win-win situation.**

**John is pretty much born to be a Hufflepuffian. Hufflepuffs are the unseen ones, who are in truth very intelligent and very perceptive. They also have an 'avoidance disorder', meaning they go out of their way to avoid confrontation or anything of the sort, which is partially why John doesn't tell Sherlock about his feelings. While Sherlock's real initials are A. S. P., and I feel personally that it means he will be a Slytherin- one of the reasons why he always felt slightly out of place in his Gryffindor family. I spend too much time thinking about this fanfiction.**

**Mycroft would have a Chocolate Frog Card as well, if his activities weren't... classified.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Back to Sherlock's POV!**

When they walk back into 221B Baker Street, Sherlock doesn't know what John will say. He knows what he hopes it to be, but he is too afraid John will reject him. And John will move out and he will be all alone.

John looks at him and takes in a deep breath. "Right, Sherlock. You haven't told me so much things- like how you are in love with me, but truth be told?"

Sherlock is frozen. John has gone straight to the point, walking the path of no return.

"I think- no, I know I'm in love with you too." John confesses. "I'm probably doing this all wrong and everything, but er-" John stutters to a stop and grins. "I've never really been good with words, hmm?"

And he pulls a shell-shocked Sherlock down into a hug. Sherlock can smell exploding sweets and Butterbeer on John and he closes his eyes. Because he needs to treasure this moment, register it in his mind forever. The day he got to keep his friend forever.

There will be lots of arguments over exploding potions or Sherlock's diet (or lack therof), but for now Sherlock and John fit together perfectly, like a puzzle piece and that is how it shall be.

Sherlock and John, consulting magical detective and his doctor.

**A/N: Right, the last chapter. Happy endings are perfect. And this is the end. Thank you for being so supportive and all. I hope I didn't rush through the Christmas dinner, I'm horrified at myself for not including exploding crackers in the Christmas dinner.**


End file.
